The Curse of Aphrodite
by Bloody Koalas
Summary: It's that time of year again... How will everyone's favorite hospital get into the season? Why is Wilson so bummed? Why is House freaked out?
1. Lady of Cyprus

**A/N: All right. I couldn't resist the idea. But if House/Wilson are a teeny bit OOC at the end, please don't mind it. My muse handed this over, and I couldn't say no to him.**

**WARNING: I am blatantly going to ignore the whole 'Amber Arc'. But, other than that, this fic is pretty present-day.**

**By: Hadley, of BK**

**Disclaimer: Would you believe me if I said my name was David Shore? Ha. Of course you wouldn't. So, would you _really_ believe me if I said I owned House?

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_Crack!_

The sound resounded loudly in his office. Wilson lifted his now throbbing head off of his desk slowly, fatigue evident in his features. And perhaps something more. No, change that. Obviously, something more.

Today was the worst day of the year.

Today was Valentine's Day.

Wilson hated today. Because he remembered.

Julie was beautiful…in _every_ sense of the word. She made him happy. And now she was gone.

But she wasn't even like the others. He hadn't left her. She hadn't found out he had been cheating.

No. _She_ was cheating on _him._

It was a horrible feeling. He had loved her. Really loved her, not some sort of 'Get into my pants,' ritual. He didn't just want her for the sex. Not like Cameron…she treated Chase like he wasn't a person, like he was a machine set up for her enjoyment. And Wilson sympathized. Chase didn't deserve that. But this was different. They had _married._ He had thought she was perfect.

Well, apparently she didn't think the same of him.

House was undoubtedly having as bad a day as Wilson. In fact, he was probably having worse. He'd fellowed Cameron, remember. And now that she was gone, his office was much less perky. But, despite the fact that she now worked in the E.R., Cameron wasn't one to give up without a fight. Wilson smiled at the thought. He'd bet anything that House's office was decorated in pink and red hearts. House's new fellow, Kutner, no doubt fed her fire. Ha.

Do you remember Bonnie? She was nice, too. _I loved her, _Wilson thought. But that one was his mistake, his fault. She'd divorced him, and he had no argument when they divorced. But he still liked her. Besides. Lov_ed, _past tense. No more…right?

Love is cruel. It's most certainly not patient, and damn! Not kind by a long shot.

His head sat back down on the desk. He was tired. There was no reason to work, to strive to do anything. It was all wrong. Messed-up. Ugh.

Childish screams reverberated through the hallway and into the young oncologist's office. Wilson laid his arm over his head to block out the noise. Poor kid. By the length of her shriek, the child was getting a bone marrow biopsy. Ouch.

Light—too bright. At least it seemed that way to Wilson. Lately, the Princeton weather had been dreary and slushy. Today, however, the sun had managed to push out from behind the clouds to shine for a little while. The oncologist winced. Rays of sun hit his desk and bounced into his eyes. He shut them tightly.

His ears were ringing, and the screaming had ended a while ago. Headache.

Migraine!

He drew the shades shut. Good. The room was silent. Better.

A piercing ring echoed through the room, tearing it's way into Wilson's consciousness and ripping it to shreds. His pager. Wilson resisted the impulse to throw the plastic annoyance out the window where it would unsafely crack into a thousand, satisfying pieces, and instead glanced down at the cloudy grey screen.

_Wilson: I need lunch money. _

Oh. Wow.

Many things rushed through Wilson's head at once, most of them involving muzzles, poison, and country music.

_There is no way I'm giving him money _again. _But_ w_hen I don't, he'll come here looking for it. I have to leave, before he gets here._

It was much too early to go home, so actually leaving the hospital was out of the question. He'd have to make a couple—hundred—visits to his patients' various private rooms. You know, just to see how they are doing. And maybe stay awhile. Play a few board games. All of the above.

So Wilson left, swinging as fast as he could through the door of his office and the hallways beyond it. Fast enough to escape without being seen. but too fast to notice someone slip into his office as the door swung shut, and poke around. Almost as if they'd planned on him leaving. Hmm. Suspicious.

* * *

It was 3:14. James Wilson could now proudly announce that he had won 2 games of kid-monopoly…and lost 6. Played 15 games of checkers, a round of hopscotch, and watched Barney with one of his younger patients. 

But he'd also successfully escaped House's lunch-money maneuver.

Actually, he'd only planned on staying half-an-hour. Just enough time to evade House and be back. But, when he thought about it, Wilson didn't have any paperwork to do, and his clinic duty was all squared up. And playing with his patients was so much fun.

He walked valiantly into his office. Nothing left to do for the day, except maybe schedule an appointment for the Deland woman. But that wouldn't take too long.

His desk was…touched. There was nothing openly wrong with it, but Wilson could tell it was not as he'd left it. Hmm.

Suddenly he found it, 'it' being the offending items. An open desk drawer and a misplaced square of post-its. Sitting on his chair. The note on top had writing on it, written in a familiar scrawl with a black pen.

_Yo mamma says Porn-n-Pizza at my house. Bring beer._

Wilson smiled. Then he shuffled his hand around in his pocket for some change. Just enough change to buy a lunch.

**A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, readers! Hope you liked it.**


	2. Lupercalian Parade

**A/N: I didn't really intend on writing a second chapter, so the ending might be a bit rough. Oh well. Note: To anyone reading Nightmare or Sanity's Edge…sorry about the wait, I really am. Working on it.**

**Disclaimer: No.**

Cameron sunk into the leather couch of the staff lounge. God, she was tired. The past night had been particularly trying, with drug addicts trying to get more of their favorite candy, crying gunshot victims, and drunkies with blood spurting every which way…which wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't been to high to respond to any of her questions. Or at least they could've stopped flailing their limbs.

Her job really was her life. No boyfriend, no hobbies. Her co-workers told her how crazy she was. "Why stay for the night-shift when you already work days? Get out there!" Actually, one nurse's phrasing on Cameron's boyfriend-status had been, "Men'll be drooling all over you! What are you afraid of?" What if she didn't want to be drooled over? What if she'd had her fair share of drooling, herself? The next day (or, she guessed, today because it was so late already) was Valentine's Day. Not a day to look forward too.

She glanced at the clock. 2:13 am. She should go to bed. _Well…I don't have to stay here…I can go home. _Cameron picked up her sleepy self and walked out the door, heading for the locker rooms.

* * *

She shuffled her feet walking through the halls. Her starched blouse was not comfortable, and she couldn't wait to change into something else at home.

Cameron turned down the Diagnostics Hallway, more out of habit than actual need. Passing House's office, she skidded to a stop. It was so bare, so empty. So House. As she looked on, a plan started to formulate in her mind. And a smile crept slowly across her tired features. Sleep could wait.

* * *

The next day, House limped grumpily out of the slow elevator. He was _not_ in a good mood. It was Valentine's Day—and what a pathetic excuse for a holiday it was. "But House," Cameron had protested during the first year of fellowship. "Valentine's Day is all about showing people that you care." _Care, my ass,_ House thought. Cupid's Hell-day was even worse than Christmas—not even a baby Jesus to justify the relentless passing of meaningless garbage, usually consisting of wilted roses and chocolate that had gone stale ages ago. Snarling at feeble nurses as he passed, House pushed open the door to his office, walking in sullenly. Suddenly, a cascade of rose petals were let loose and flew merrily from the ceiling to cover House's office floor. He drew back from the poison in horror, like a frightened puppy avoiding a kick. House let lose whimper, and then shut his eyes tight and leaned against the hallway walls.

He had hoped that, on account of some bizarre nightmare, he had imagined the sickly serenade. He hadn't. In reality, it was much worse than he could ever had imagined.

House surveyed his office, fully expecting complete normalcy. Wrong. What he saw…was terrifying. Garlands of untastefully colored hearts drooped cheerfully from the ceiling. Red roses, at least a hundred (it seemed that way to House) lay scattered across his desk. Several metallic balloons bobbed at the windowsill. And the smell of thick perfume overpowered the oxygen in the air. House gasped, and kicked his way through the conference room doors, anxious to repeal the unimportant tasks assigned to his team and replace them with the new cleaning job. "Hey! Get all that—" But House couldn't finish his sentence. Because there was no one in the room to listen.

_Damn! _House took a deep breath, shaking his head in disgust as he did so. The air was flowery and romantic. Oh, no! The curse of Valentine's Day was spreading!

House looked around. He needed air. Needed fresh air. _The balcony!_ And, as fast as the words could form in his mind, House had run out to his familiar outdoor hideaway.

He gulped so much oxygen in those three seconds House thought he might collapse. But, of course, he didn't. After gaining composure over his anxiously beating heart, House peered cautiously over the balcony into Wilson's office. Wait a minute…something wasn't right. That look—that look didn't belong on Wilson's face. It was wrong.

House watched quietly as his younger friend slumped down into his office couch, his brow furrowed and his eyes shut tight. House dropped his cane and leaned unhappily against the railing. It would be a terrible day, indeed.

* * *

Several minutes later, the shades of Wilson's office were abruptly shut. A flash of worry shook House before he kicked it away. Wilson was fine. No, that wasn't true…but he _would_ be fine, when House was done with him.

Deviously, House shook his pager out of his pocket (He mentally slapped himself—he could've had the team clean up his office if he'd remembered to page them!) and sent a rude, infuriating, and usually (but not today) truthful message. Then he hurried downstairs. He didn't want to miss the fireworks show. Or the beer afterwards.


	3. Triumph

**A/N: The final chapter. I wanted to include Amber, but the first chapter didn't include her at all. If you squint and stand upside-down, you might catch a glimpse of the Amber ship. Good luck with that.**

**Disclaimer: Now, I know this will come as a shock to all of you, but -Gasp!- I don't suddenly own House.**

House smiled evilly. His page had been perfectly timed—Wilson almost instantaneously darted out of his office and into the mysterious and crowded world of his cancer kiddies. Just to avoid giving away lunch money (or, as House knew, to avoid a confrontation from his older friend), he was probably _playing_ with them. House shuddered.

After impolitely searching through Wilson's desk for his prize, a notepad, House messily scrawled out a booze-fest invite and set it on the young doctor's chair. Finally, House sat down with ease on Wilson's hideously upholstered, overly soft couch. He popped three vicodin.

House stretched his legs along the couch. He considered paging his team to clean his office, but figured that (by the time he got back to his office) they'd already be in the conference room. Besides, he could hardly get his mind of that _face_. House knew that face. It was the I-Just-Got-Divorced face. The My-Wife-Hates-Me face. That particular emotional mask didn't become him. And House was ready to slug and kill the poor bitch who'd made him wear it.

* * *

Twenty minutes had passed. House figured he'd better leave—Wilson could be back soon…plus Cuddy knew all the good places to look. So, stiffly, the diagnostician limped heavily to his office.

Thirteen walked swiftly down the halls, sipping a not-so-steamy cup of coffee that tasted like a terrifying Hazelnut Nightmare. _Hmm. Guess Kutner made it today,_ she pondered. _Forgot to add the flavor. _Suddenly, she skidded to a stop. Right outside House's office. And she laughed; unbeknownst to her was her angry boss creeping up behind her. He had a job for her to do. It would take awhile.

* * *

Five hours later, Taub, Kutner and Thirteen had managed to clear out House's office. A sickening flowery scent still wafted through the room, however, but after opening up the windows, it was almost all gone. The team had left for the day, and House walked down to his desk in triumph. Suddenly, he felt faint. _What the…?_ There, sitting innocently on his desk, was the largest red-and-pink valentine House had ever seen. It was covered in lace, and you could _see_ the perfume rising from the paper. It was horrifying. Simply horrifying.

And, without even a glance at who had sent the card, House promptly ripped the valentine in two and threw it into the garbage can. _There,_ he thought decidedly. _The curse is over._


End file.
